


my heart bleeds for you

by EyeOfKaleidoscope



Series: walk the line [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Relationship, arobynn is an a+ asshole, but what's new, i freaking love him, sam is a fool in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeOfKaleidoscope/pseuds/EyeOfKaleidoscope
Summary: "He should've known. Some top-notch assassin he was. He can sense a pending attack from a misplaced paper weight in an unorganized office, but he can't predict retribution from the most vindictive of them all until it literally strikes him in the face."In retrospect, freeing those slaves in Skull's Bay might not have been the smartest of Sam's (or Celaena's) ideas.





	my heart bleeds for you

**Author's Note:**

> i was re-reading Assassin's Blade and got the sam/celaena feels. gosh, i freaking love sam. i wish that he never died. rowan totally takes the backseat when it comes to celaena. but anyways, i just had to write this scene from sam's pov. i was honestly surprised no one's done it before

He should've known. Some top-notch assassin he was. He can sense a pending attack from a misplaced paper weight in an unorganized office, but he can't predict retribution from the most vindictive of them all until it literally strikes him in the face.

But Celaena had given him that grin-that  _infuriating_ _ly_ smug grin that she always gives him just to get under his skin (and it always,  _always_ works)-wicked and gleaming in the golden light painting the destruction of Skull's Bay. It was the grin that she gave whenever she said or did something she knew she could get away with, and Sam. like an  _idiot_ , let himself believe that it was no different this time. That her wicked grin was an omen to Arobynn's mercy.

Sam Cortland should've known.

When they entered Assassin's Keep still giddy with their triumph ( _two hundred slaves freed, it would always be worth it-it_ should've  _always been worth it_ ), they were forced to quickly sober up when Wesley, who never ever went anywhere without Arobynn (Celaena had made some very crass jokes about the two's relationship during their trip back, when her tongue had been loosened with cheap ale and whatever fragile rapport had been forged between them), appeared before them. Arobynn was nowhere to be found, and Wesley kept a firm grip on Celaena's elbow as he guided her through the hallways of the Keep, winding their way up to Arobynn's office. Sam followed without protest despite the nausea churning the contents of his stomach.

And now they're here-sitting straight-backed in identically plain chairs, trying their hardest to not move, blink, or breathe the wrong way so the man before them won't explode. But Sam can't help but think that a screaming, teacup-throwing Arobynn would much preferable to the eerily silent one standing before them.  _Danger, danger, danger,_ Sam's previously nonexistent honed senses scream at him now. Those unnatural silver eyes seem to glow in the dim lighting of his office, and Sam can practically feel the quaking of Celaena's soul from where she sits silently beside him. Still, she keeps her chin lifted and her face neutral. Sam's always loved that about her.

"Do you know how much money you've cost me?" Arobynn's voice is deceptively soft, those dangerously calm silver eyes resting directly on Celaena, daring her to lie to him.

Sam musters up whatever courage he can possibly scrounge up in the face of this monster that owns his soul. "It's not her fault." His voice comes out stronger than he thought it would. It only grows stronger still when he feels Celaena's glare burn into the side of his head. "We both thought it was-"

"Don't lie to me, Sam Cortland," Arobynn snaps, not even bothering to glance in his direction. Arobynn has always used Sam's name as a weapon-another reminder of who Sam is and whom he belongs to. Even his last name sounds it out for him.  _Cortland._ "The only way  _you_ became involved in this was because she decided to do it-and it was either let her die trying, or help her."

There's a slight sting in knowing that both Celaena and Arobynn seem to believe that he cares nothing about the people who are treated as cattle-to be bought and traded and branded. There's a vindictive sort of pleasure, though, in knowing that Arobynn may own his soul, but there are parts of Sam Cortland that Arobynn has yet to understand-and, perhaps, he never will. 

Sam opens his mouth, though he's not exactly sure what he would've said even if Arobynn doesn't cut him off again, this time with a shrill whistle, as if Sam were a dog. Celaena is still glaring at Sam, but he's only sorry that he hadn't been able to take the blame. A moment later, the doors open, and Wesley looks in, bored as ever. Arobynn straightens, never taking his eyes off of Celaena even as he orders, "Get Tern, Mullin, and Harding." 

Trepidation pounds an unsteady rhythm in Sam's chest-or maybe that's his heart, urging him to  _make a run for it and never look back_. Celaena doesn't even twitch, her eyes hard on Arobynn, betraying none of the unease she must be feeling now. Sam swears that she isn't even breathing. 

A minute passes in this tense silence, and Arobynn betrays nothing of what he's planning for the two assassins. Tern enters first, slamming the door open with the force of a battering ram. Arobynn doesn't even reprimand him. "Shut that door. Hold him."

Something akin to panic begins fluttering in Sam's stomach when Tern and Mullin walk straight past Celaena and grab hold of his arms, dragging him out of the chair with unnecessary force. Their fingers dig into the skin of his forearms as they pin him in between the two of them. Celaena watches with wide eyes as Harding walks up a beat behind the others, his fingers flexing and curling into a fist. Up close, Sam can see the scars that criss cross the back of his hand-remnants of knife wounds and broken bones. There's a grim look on his face, and Harding looks sorry-as sorry as an assassin can be.

"No." The word is nothing more than silent breath that's only audible because of the oppressive silence in the room. Sam can barely see her pupils as she stares at him, her skin pale. Her fingers flex unconsciously on the arms of her chair, as if she's fighting the urge to-to-

To do what? 

Would Celaena sit and watch as Sam is beaten to an inch of death? His stomach sours at the thought, but it roils at the following realization that Arobynn will punish her too. He would take every single scar on her body and place it on his own if he could. He would take every single blow meant for her and not regret a single one.

She sits rigid in her seat, head held high in spite of the glimmer that looks dangerously close to fear in her eyes. Arobynn stalks around his smooth desk with a graceful gait, prowling and predatory. Sam wants to scream at him to  _get away from her_ , especially when the King of Assassins leans down to whisper something into her ear, delicately brushing a finger across her cheek. When Arobynn straightens, Sam braces himself for the crunch of bone on bone and a booming pain across his cheek.

Neither of them are ready for when Arobynn slams an iron fist into Celaena's face.

She topples like a rag doll off her chair, golden hair flying into the air. There's no time for either of them to breathe before Arobynn is on her again, snatching her up by the collar of her dirty traveling clothes and punching her cheek again. There's brutal efficiency in the way he places his punches, knowing the exact strength with which to hurt but not to leave lasting marks. Sam knows-Arobynn taught him. Celaena's skin splits, and blood comes bubbling out, streaming down the skin that would've earned Celaena a fortune had she chosen the path of courtesan. But the worst thing-Sam thinks that the worst thing is the way Celaena stares up at the ceiling as Arobynn rains blows with abrasive precision all over her body-her ribs, her jaw, her gut, her face-and she does  _nothing_. She doesn't even struggle. 

Something in Sam snaps.

_"I'll kill you!"_ The words rip themselves from Sam's throat, tearing him bloody, but all he can see is Celaena and her limp doll body and Arobynn's knowing smirk on an otherwise impassive face (as if this means nothing to him-and damn it, Sam knows it doesn't-mean anything, that is) as he beats the shit out of this insufferable girl that Sam has somehow fallen for over years and years of trading wickedly cut insults and wickedly curved knives and wickedly curled smirks.  _"I'll kill you!"_

Tern and Mullin dig their fingers into him. Mullin kicks the back of his knee, forcing Sam to drop to the ground. Harding's arm, hand still bulled into a fist, extends like a bar across Sam's chest, keeping him in place. He struggles against them, but all three of them hold firm. 

_"I'll kill you!"_

Sam's throat is burning, raw from his screams, and rage slithers under his skin, a poisonous snake just begging for release. He wants to focus on Arobynn's neck, imagine plunging a knife into it. He wants to do anything but stare at the way Celaena's eyes are fluttering until they close, the way Arobynn keeps on hitting her, the way her blood stains the sickeningly exquisite carpet on his office floor. ( _That's what it's there for_ , a giddy part of Sam's hazy consciousness realizes,  _to soak up all the blood_.) She's barely breathing by the time Arobynn finally steps away, not even breathing harshly. His knuckles are smeared with blood- _her_ blood.

"I'll kill you." He whispers the words, a promise more than a threat, his eyes fixed on Celaena's face. He can barely see her under all the blood. If he'd known that this would happen (if he'd stopped to  _think_ for even one  _goddamned_ second), he would never have helped her-would never have allowed her to free those two hundred slaves. He would've tied her to the bedpost, would've warned Rolfe beforehand, would've drugged her and locked her below decks if he'd had to.

(He would've chosen Celaena Sarodthien over the lives of two hundred other faceless people.)

Arobynn smiles haughtily, wiping his hands off on a towel he picked up from his desk.  _He planned this._ "You brought this onto yourself," he replies conversationally, sweeping Harding off to the side and gesturing for Tern and Mullin to release Sam. All three of them do, eyes wary and hands resting on the hilts of their weapons, waiting for the first sign of an attack. Arobynn laughs, spreading his arms. He looks euphoric. " _'I'll kill you.'_ Why don't you try?"

Sam clenches his teeth and his fists, and for a single moment, he considers it. Considers rushing at Arobynn and wiping that ugly smirk off his face. He's fast enough to evade Tern, Mullin, and Harding, at least long enough to get in a solid hit. But is one punch worth the rest of his life? Is one punch worth losing Celaena?

"I thought so." 

As Arobynn beats Sam into the ground, the only pain that burns through his skin is the sight of Celaena's blood slowly soaking into the rug.

**Author's Note:**

> so this might be a series? idk, but i have a few ideas for writing some scenes from Assassin's Blade in sam's pov. pls let me know if you guys have any scenes you want to read from sam's pov!


End file.
